The Witch's Guide to Magical Combat

by Lari Don

  The vulture jerked to one side, dropping the boy.

  Molly spun away to protect the white crow from the boy’s flailing feet as he fell, then turned back to help him up. The boy clamped one hand over his mouth, and used the other to give her a thumbs-up. She offered him the branch and he took it, then waved it threateningly at the vulture. Molly wrapped both hands round the bird again and looked round.

  Estelle and Theo were now attacking each other with their full magical powers. Estelle was thrusting a wall of ice at Theo, who was slicing it up with a sword of fire.

  All the curse-hatched and curse-army soldiers who were fighting in small groups began to move away from the unpredictable dangers of the elemental duel. Soon, Estelle and Theo had the centre of the wood to themselves.

  But Molly couldn’t move to safety. She had to edge round the magical combat and take the bird to the Keeper.

  She sidled round the battle of fire and ice, trying to avoid the steam and sparks. The little bird in her hand flinched at noises Molly couldn’t hear.

  As the wall of ice melted away, Estelle conjured a wall of glass. Theo created a flaming hammer, and began to fracture the glass with repeated swings and blows.

  Estelle was concentrating on blocking Theo’s approach. She thought Theo was the threat. But the real threat to the Keeper was in Molly’s hands, and Estelle wasn’t defending herself against Molly.

  Molly smiled, in her own silent world. She walked round the edge of the elemental duel. She needed to get behind Estelle while the Keeper was focused on Theo.

  Suddenly her path was blocked by a tall curse-hatched woman, who bent down to seize a rusty axe from a dazed troll. The curse-hatched woman lifted the axe above her head and swung the wide blade straight towards Molly.

  Molly ducked out of the way.

  The woman lifted the axe again.

  A soft black wing brushed Molly’s shoulder as a young black eagle grabbed the handle of the axe.

  The eagle jerked the axe from the woman’s hands, flew upwards, and swung the axe so hard that it stuck into the trunk of the nearest tree.

  The black eagle swooped back down to attack the tall woman, but she ran off. As the eagle somersaulted in a victory roll, Molly saw an image on the glossy feathers of his right wing. The image of a leaping hare.

  Molly had just been saved by her own curse-hatched.

  She nodded to Mickle, and he dipped his feathered head towards her.

  Molly kept on edging her way round the magical combat. Now Estelle had created a waterfall, and Theo was slicing through it with a sharp rainbow. Theo was winning again. The bright flowing waterfall was becoming soggy grey drizzle.

  Molly saw Estelle’s mouth stretch wide in an angry scream. The Keeper picked up one of the glowing mirrors and ran her hand over it. Sparks flickered from the glass to her fingertips. She picked up another mirror and another, and drew sparks from each of them.

  Molly looked behind her. The boy who’d been spitting cockroaches was standing still, his fingertips touching his open lips, his eyes confused. Nothing was crawling from his mouth.

  Estelle was removing the extra power from the chargedup curses. That was exactly what they’d hoped for. But she wasn’t drawing the energy back to save herself from the star iron, or because she was re-united with her lost wisdom. She was drawing the energy back to increase her own power, so she could defeat Theo.

  Estelle lifted her hand and flung a trident of lightning. A three-pronged bolt of electricity flew towards Theo. He threw up a domed shield of light to deflect it, but the trident ripped through and struck him in the chest.

  He fell hard to the ground.

  Estelle threw half a dozen bolts of jagged lightning, which pinned him down and fenced him in, and suddenly Theo wasn’t moving.

  Molly wasn’t moving either. She’d planned to creep up on a distracted Keeper in the middle of a fight, not walk towards a victorious one.

  Molly looked round, to see if anyone could help her.

  Innes had his tentacles wrapped round his father’s human form and was slamming him on the ground by the pool.

  Atacama was aiming a claw at the glowing wool connecting Mrs Sharpe to Estelle’s throne.

  Snib was riding on the back of a giant crow, swooping round a huge vulture that held Corbie in its claws.

  Beth couldn’t come past the door.

  Theo was trapped by lightning.

  Mickle, her own curse-hatched, was wrestling with another black eagle, both grasping each other’s talons, pecking and flapping as they tumbled through the air.

  No one could help her.

  Molly took a breath. That was the only thing she could hear past the moss in her ears: her own breathing.

  She glanced at the little bird in her hands. The white crow nodded at Molly, her eyes bright and her feathers smooth. She looked healthier and stronger than she had all day.

  Molly walked towards Estelle.

  Estelle looked at her. Molly kept walking. Estelle smiled, a thin cold smile, and mouthed something.

  Molly shrugged and kept walking.

  Estelle spoke again.

  Molly held the small bird against her chest, the fingers of one hand curled to keep her hidden. Molly used her other hand to point to her own ears.

  Estelle nodded. Suddenly, Molly and the Keeper were inside a bubble: a glistening bubble of warm scented air, big enough for them to stand in.

  Molly looked at the Keeper, who covered her own ears, then pointed to the bubble. Was she telling Molly that this flimsy bubble would block out the noise of battle?

  Molly looked past the swirling petrol colours at the squawking birds and roaring beasts on the other side of the thin soapy film. And she took a risk. She pulled the moss out of one ear.

  She heard nothing.

  The Battle of Stone Egg Wood was still raging outside the bubble, but she couldn’t hear it inside. Her shapeshifting wouldn’t be triggered in here.

  She pulled the moss from the other ear, as Estelle said, in the bored tone of someone asking a question for the third time, “I said: Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

  “I am,” said Molly. “Very afraid. But I have a gift for you, so I hope you’ll be kind to me.”

  “A gift?” Estelle’s voice brightened. “Really! What?”

  Molly held the small bird gently in both hands again, but her fingers curved and closed over the white feathers, so Estelle couldn’t see what she was holding.

  “It’s something the crows were hiding from you. Their most precious object.”

  “Give it to me.”

  “I’ll give it to you when you let Theo go.”

  They both glanced at the magician, trapped by barbed blades of lightning.

  “I’ll never let him go. He’s too powerful and too persistent. Also that haircut is entirely inappropriate for a formal feast. Give me my gift anyway, hare-girl.”

  “No, I’ll only give it to you if you let Theo go.” Molly edged round the side of the bubble, like she was staying as far from Estelle as she could, but she held her hands in front of her, within reach of the Keeper.

  She said, “This gift is rare and beautiful and no one else has one. I promise I’ll give it to you, if you free my friend.”

  “I want it. And I’m not bargaining for it. Give it to me now.”

  “You can’t have it, unless you let Theo go.”

  “I can have anything I want!” Estelle reached out, forced Molly’s fingers open and grabbed the bird.

  Now the Keeper held the white crow in her hands. The bird sat up, happy and gleaming, plump and beautiful, and flapped her wings. Estelle giggled.

  The bird rose into the fragrant air and flew round Estelle’s head.

  Suddenly there was a blaze of light, as bright as all the sunrises in a century, all the sunsets in a millennium. When the flare of light faded, the bubble around them had lost all of its colour and most of its sheen.

  The Keeper sighed. There was no bird in her hand or r
ound her head. But her hands were moving gently like wings; her white cheeks had a wash of pink on them, like the pink of the bird’s eyes; and there were lines around her own blue eyes – not makeup, but the gentle wrinkles that come from smiling and thinking.

  Molly thought that the Keeper didn’t look exactly like Estelle any more. She looked like Estelle’s older sister or cousin: someone who walked confidently past mirrors rather than gazing at herself, someone who offered to help rather than laughing at someone in pain.

  The Keeper looked at Molly. “Have I done something silly?”

  Molly nodded. “But you can put it right—”

  Then the bubble burst, the sounds of battle crashed in and Molly heard a dog bark.

  Molly felt the usual body-shifting flash of heat in her bones, and she couldn’t speak any more.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Molly stood on her hare’s hind legs, so she could see the battle. But the battle had ended.

  Innes was standing over his father, who was lying flat on the ground, his boots in the water.

  Atacama and Mrs Sharpe were winding up the wool, side by side.

  Snib was leaping from the giant crow’s back to land beside Corbie, who was kneeling under the weight of the birds mobbing him.

  Mickle was hovering protectively above his big sister.

  Theo was sitting up, brushing sparks and ash from his golden cloak.

  And the ex-soldiers of the curse army were rushing towards the doors, held open by Beth.

  Molly saw a green dog, its fur matted and rot-coloured, slinking towards the exit.

  Molly sprinted at top hare speed across Stone Egg Wood, leaping over fallen nests, spilled eggs, broken branches, bent feathers and ripped moss.

  She chased after the deephound, following the exodus of monsters, many of whom were shrinking or becoming less monstrous as they ran. Estelle was already removing her energy from the remaining charged-up curses.

  Molly realised that her own curse would be returning to normal, so the only animal she could be was this hare. She couldn’t be a snake or a goat, and any half-formed plans she’d had about researching what ate dragons, so she could shift into something bigger and scarier than the deephound, were already out of date.

  She could be a hare or a girl. Those were her only options for fighting the dog.

  Or, of course, she could become a witch.

  She remembered the violent pictures in The Witch’s Guide on Mrs Sharpe’s shelves. She heard Theo’s voice in her head: The way you feel when you choose to be a hare…use that to fight, to attack, to hurt, to destroy…

  She shook her head as she ran.

  She wasn’t a witch.

  She was Molly Drummond: Edinburgh schoolgirl and part-time hare. And that’s how she would defeat him.

  She ran through the doorway and past Beth, who called after her, “Molly, be careful! Lifting your curse isn’t worth losing your life.”

  Molly grinned as she ran out of the tunnel.

  She was already past most of the curse-casters and curse victims. Molly saw two boys speaking to a warty troll, who was raising his hands in the same gesture Innes and Theo had used when they lifted curses. Perhaps the brothers would be completely free of their jewel and beetle curse now.

  But she was past them already. Sprinting across the land, following the deephound, who hadn’t taken the route across the burn towards Craigvenie. He was running deeper into the moor, towards the mountains massing on the horizon.

  Molly chased after the huge green dog.

  And she was faster than him. She wasn’t shifting between hare and girl, as she had been when he’d chased her on the patchwork of farmland nearer town. This time, she was much faster.

  She caught up with him less than a mile from the entrance to Stone Egg Wood.

  The dog whirled round and bared his teeth.

  Now Molly was alone, on the moor, with the creature who had cursed her. With his drool burning the heather, his fangs glinting in the winter sunlight, his claws gouging lines in the earth, and his flickering blue eyes staring right at her.

  Molly didn’t stop to worry about the speed and freedom she would lose if she defeated him and broke her curse. She knew she wanted Mr Crottel’s malice out of her life. She wouldn’t let any more of her choices be coloured by this witch’s petty revenge.

  So she leapt at him.

  But it didn’t work like a mouse jumping at a surprised cat.

  The deephound snapped at her and she had to swivel in the air to avoid his teeth. She landed awkwardly and backed off.

  Mr Crottel had seen her jump before. Leaping wasn’t going to take him by surprise.

  So Molly ran under him. She emerged under his stinking matted tail, and ran round him anti-clockwise.

  He whirled after her, trying to snap her spine.

  She turned on one paw, then ran clockwise. The dog whirled again to follow her.

  Molly kept running round him, switching direction unpredictably. She used the ground beneath him too, darting under his belly, his chin and his tail.

  The dog snarled and bit, and spun round trying to catch her.

  She tried to keep close to his legs but ahead of his teeth, jerking and jinking, turning and leaping, sprinting round and round. The dog was howling and growling in frustration, as Molly kept out of reach of his crunching jaws and swinging drool.

  She ran in tight circles, afraid of the massive dog, but also enjoying the power and precision of her hare body.

  Then she felt a sudden heavy punch on her ribs, as she was swept sideways by the swipe of a huge green paw.

  Molly was knocked off her four fast feet.

  But she bounced back up and leapt away from the jaws that snapped in the air behind her.

  And she kept on teasing the deephound. Careful now of the paws as well as the teeth, she ducked and dived and dodged.

  The hare ran rings around the dog.

  Finally the dog began to slow. He was getting dizzy, his reactions becoming sluggish.

  Molly jumped just a little further away and he leant over, trying to bite her in mid-air. But the dizzy dog leant too far, lost his balance, and toppled over.

  Molly didn’t hesitate. She found the longest scrape Mr Crottel had gouged in the earth as they faced off, she put perfect memories of running as a hare into it, she saw the earth before and the earth after, she leapt over…

  And she landed as a girl.

  With her clothes on. And her pockets. And everything in her pockets.

  She unzipped her coat pocket, hauled out the collar, and threw herself at the dog. He leapt up, as she leapt at him.

  She no longer had her speed or nimble paws. But she did have height and weight and hands.

  So Molly clambered onto the giant dog’s back, using her fingers to grip his fur and her knees to crush his ribs. She clung on as the deephound bucked and twisted, and just as she felt him take in a breath to snarl and turn her back to a vulnerable hare, she flung the collar round his neck.

  The deephound stopped moving.

  He stood still and quiet, shaking with fear.

  Molly slid off him, holding onto both ends of the collar, then she stood beside him, smelling his sour breath and musky fur.

  “I could fasten the buckle on this collar and have complete control over you. And the first order I would give you is: go back home, back to the deeps.”

  The green dog trembled.

  “Or… I could take the collar off and you’d be free to live wherever you want. If I promise to take this collar off and put it back where I found it, far away from you, will you promise to lift my curse?”

  The dog dipped and wagged his head, in a half nod.

  “I don’t trust you. I need your promise that you will lift my curse, completely and absolutely, with no limits or tricks. Or I will buckle this collar.” She jerked the collar nearer his skin, and the deephound winced.

  “Promise, now. And if you break your promise, I’ll speak to my friend,
the Promise Keeper…”

  The dog nodded three times, carefully, but firmly.

  Molly lifted the collar away slightly, holding it above the dog so the points of the nails were touching the hair of his neck.

  The dog shifted, shaking off his mouldering fur then drawing it back in, and became an old man, with a greenish-grey suit and a green tie.

  Mr Crottel ducked away from the collar. “You drive a hard bargain, girl. I’m not happy about it, but a promise is a promise, especially with a newly powerful Keeper.” He raised his hands. “I, Oliver Crottel of Deep End, lift my curse on Molly Drummond. Now, and forever.”

  He turned and walked away.

  Molly said, “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. Just take that evil nailed choker away.”

  Molly called after him, “Why don’t you want to go home, to your family underground?”

  “Because I’m the smallest and the weakest.” He kept walking as he spoke, so she barely heard the end of his answer. “And because I’m afraid of the dark…”

  Molly smiled. Mr Crottel might still be afraid of the dark, but she wasn’t scared of him, or his magic, or his curses, or his smelly slobbering deephound form.

  She scuffed the magical boundary, and slipped the collar into her pocket. She’d return it to the cabinet at Ballindreich before the end of the holidays.

  Then she started walking back towards the entrance to Stone Egg Wood. Walking slowly, trudging on her heavy human legs.

  Her thoughts were moving faster than her feet. The battle had been drawing to a close when she left, but what if Corbie was now overcoming Snib, what if Mr Milne was still trying to take revenge on Innes, what if Estelle hadn’t reversed all the charged-up curses? What if her friends were in danger? What if someone needed her help?

  She broke into a run.

  She had to find out what was happening. She had to go faster…

  And she did go faster.

  Molly simply remembered the fastest speed she’d ever run, and imagined shifting to her swiftest most nimble form.

  And she was leaping over the heather, sprinting towards Stone Egg Wood.

  Molly was a hare.